Heart for the Heartless
by Clamorous Whisper
Summary: Set eleven years following his death, Ulquiorra finds himself trapped in Hell for all eternity as all Hollows who have been bad in their past lives do. One day, the unexpected happens, and he successfully manages to escape from Hell. What does his return signify for all of Karakura Town, Soul Society, and Hueco Mundo?


******Disclaimer: Pretty obvious. I do not own Bleach, nor do I any of the characters used in this story.**

**Author's Note**: The main characters in this story are the obvious Ulquiorra Cifer…and Yoruichi Shihōin. As this is only a prologue featuring Ulquiorra, I have only included him in the characters section. The genre is also more than just angst. However, the reason I have chosen to do this is because I would like to see what sort of response I get with this, and that could spur me on to continue it or not. Let it be worth noting that this is my first fanfiction, so now you understand why I am testing the waters, so to speak, before diving in. Forgive me for how short this is on that account. So, yeah, read…enjoy, hopefully…and review. Cheers!

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**Prologue**

He had always known where he would end up when his time was up. For people like him, for what he was, there was only one plausible destination. Knowing meant preparing. However, simply knowing was never enough, and this he had discovered the hard way. Nothing he could do, or anyone else for that matter, could prepare him for a place like this. Nevertheless, the way he saw it, there had been no flaw in his preparation for the simple fact that there had been no preparation. There was only one reason for this-one that had been outside of his careful calculations. The unexpected and unimaginable had happened. He had found defeat…and eventually, death, at the hands of an unlikely source.

In battle, a number of reasons brought about the demise of many people. For some, overconfidence in their abilities proved to be their own Achilles' heel. For some, it was arrogance. Although, the line between the two was a blurred one. There were miscalculations and underestimations, which some would claim were the reasons behind his doom, but his pride would never permit him to admit to either of these two - or both - to being the reasons for his undoing. He had been the better of the two - the stronger and the smarter. Logic had been on his side, and by it, he should have overcome. Yet, he had fallen to something as illogical as a heart. It could be argued that, technically, he had fallen to the unexpected transformation of his opponent that he had failed to account for nor deemed possible under any circumstance. However, those were nothing more than empty words to offer some false sense of comfort. He had no desire for such things. What he desired, however, were answers. Answers that put everything into perspective, that made the illogical logical once again, and all right with his world.

His slender shoulders heaved, the dissonant rattling of chains filling the air around him, as he sat beneath a leafless, withered tree made up of the bones of what he assumed were past residents. He had all of eternity to find the answers he sought; to make the impossible possible just as _he_ had done; and to curse not only _his name_, but also himself for his ineptitude and worthlessness. After all, if there was one thing he had here with him in Hell - on his side - it was time. This much he thought, at least; but of it, he was no longer certain. No longer could he sense its presence. He didn't know when, but at some point since this place had become his permanent abode, its pendulum had crawled to a halt. He had lost track of how long he had been in this place. It felt like aeons to him, and in that time, he had watched with his usual calm and apathetic demeanour the gradual descent into madness of some of the weak, faint-hearted souls here with him. Yet, he had aeons more to go.

This was unless he found a way to escape the chains that had him bound to this place. He possessed half of what was required to do so. That half being knowledge. The other half was something he was incapable of expressing. It was something that he had never had, nor would he ever have. Rage. Emotions. What _that man_, what those strange, weak creatures referred to as a heart. Was there irony to be found somewhere here? The very thing that he had denounced - that defied not only logic, but everything that he represented - had not only been his downfall, but had also condemned him to here, to Hell, for all eternity.


End file.
